


Fire With Snow II

by Crowgirl



Series: On the Strength of the Evidence [8]
Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Consensual Infidelity, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Early Days, Established Relationship, M/M, Short & Sweet, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:31:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: ‘I didn’t come to examine your housekeeping, Geordie.’





	

By the time Sidney knocks on the door, Geordie has worked himself into what Cathy would call ‘a right state.’ With no calls from the station, he’s had time on his hands since she, Caro, the girls, and Davie left that morning -- and somehow that spare time has translated into an inner conviction that Sidney will be mortally offended by the state of the house if Geordie doesn’t spend the rest of the day cleaning.

When the knock actually comes, he’s standing in the door of the sitting room, frowning at the settee and wondering about the shabbiness of the pillows. He sighs, balls up the dustcloth he’s been carrying around, and drops it on the hall table. He opens the door and is greeted by a gust of cold wind and snowflakes and an enthusiastic, cold-pawed dog.

‘Sorry,’ Sidney says, making an abortive grab for Dickens’ collar. ‘Leonard absolutely refused to be left with him.’ 

Geordie grabs Dickens’ front paws and guides them to the floor, keeping his hand firmly on the top of the dog’s head to ensure he stays down. ‘Come in before you’re a snowbank.’

Sidney steps just inside the door, closing it behind himself, and brushes snow off his head onto the mat. He smiles, almost shyly, when Geordie lets Dickens trot down the hall and looks up at him. ‘Everyone got off all right?’

‘Fine.’ Geordie holds out a hand, determined not to let the uncomfortable twist of anxiety in his stomach have any more sway over him. Sidney looks at his hand, then at him, one eyebrow raised. ‘Your coat?’

‘I think I can manage.’ Sidney shrugs out of the navy wool, gives it a brisk shake, and hangs it on an empty peg. Geordie realises he’s still standing with his hand out like a complete fool and moves to step away just as Sidney catches his fingers, sliding their hands together palm to palm.

The gesture is so unexpected, the touch so precisely what he wants, that Geordie could swear he actually hears the hall go silent for a split second. He clears his throat after a moment and says, ‘You should come into the sitting room. Bit more comfortable than the hall.’

‘Yes -- oh!’ Sidney squeezes his hand before letting go and half-kneeling to rummage in the rucksack Geordie hadn’t even noticed he had. He turns triumphantly after a moment’s search. ‘Your present.’ He flourishes what is clearly a newspaper-wrapped bottle. ‘Three guesses what it is, I’m afraid. I never was very good at presentation.’

‘Oh, God.’ Geordie stares at him, momentarily horror-struck.

‘What?’ Sidney’s smile falters. ‘You -- did I -- say the wrong thing?’ 

‘I -- I forgot. I don’t--’

‘Oh!’ Sidney laughs and pushes himself to his feet. ‘Good grief, don’t look so stricken. I’m not one of the girls. I’ll forgive you.’ 

He holds out the bottle again and Geordie takes it, feeling the slow sinking feeling in his chest of having forgotten something very obvious. He gestures to the sitting room door. ‘Go in -- I’ll just -- I’ll -- see to Dickens, make sure he’s not pulling the kitchen apart.’

* * *

Dickens is, in fact, happily asleep in front of the Aga, his front paws tucked under the edge of it. Geordie puts down a bowl of water and wonders momentarily if there’s anything in the house he can turn into dog food. There’s bound to be a tin of meat in the cupboard; Cathy always keeps one on hand for emergencies. 

He unwraps the bottle and stares at it gloomily. A full bottle of something Irish and expensive that he vaguely remembers Sidney buying him a glass of once when they were in Cambridge overnight, single malt, aged at least fifteen years according to the label.

‘Well,’ he tells the bottle, ‘I suppose that’s at least the _biggest_ mistake I could make.’ Dickens sighs in his sleep as if in response and turns slightly on his side, claws clicking against the lino.

‘What is?’

‘You are supposed to be in the sitting room,’ Geordie tells the stove before turning around and almost stepping into Sidney; he flinches back reflexively, then plants his hands by his hips to keep himself steady. 

Sidney, on the other hand, doesn’t budge an inch, standing so close that Geordie would barely have to lift a hand to touch him. ‘I got lonely. What’s the biggest mistake?’ 

‘Forgetting a bloody present.’ Geordie runs a hand back through his hair, only barely resisting the urge to tug on the short strands in frustration.

Sidney shakes his head. ‘Don’t be daft -- I’ve had that bottle for months; I bought it at the pub where we stayed. I thought of it this afternoon, that’s all.’

‘Yes, well--’

‘And what happened to the sitting room? Cathy didn’t feel she had to clean the house before she left, did she?’

Geordie thinks back over his afternoon and sighs, leaning back against the edge of the kitchen table. ‘No, I did.’

‘What?’

Geordie taps himself on the breastbone. _‘I_ did it. This afternoon. So if it looks like a bomb went off, that’s why.’

‘No, no, it doesn’t; it just --’ 

Sidney looks like he’s trying not to laugh and Geordie sighs, shrugs, and, remembering the pile of dust he had forgotten to scoop up from in front of the hearthrug he had forgotten to shake under the mantel he had forgotten to dust, laughs himself. ‘Oh, go on, then -- I’m terrible at cleaning, always have been.’

Sidney doesn’t laugh, but does step gently in against him so Geordie is genuinely pressed between the solidity of Sidney’s body and the edge of the kitchen table. Sidney’s sudden closeness is almost as shocking as a douse of cold water and Geordie has to resist the urge to gasp in breath. ‘I didn’t come to examine your housekeeping, Geordie,’ Sidney says, a half-smile belying the soberness of his tone.

‘No?’ Geordie hears his own voice breathless in his ears and, slowly, giving Sidney time to protest, settles his hands on Sidney’s waist and only notices now that Sidney isn’t in clerical black; the shirt under his hands is white, worn and soft, and he can feel the warmth of skin underneath the layer of cotton. He presses his hands more closely just for the pleasure of feeling the lower curve of Sidney’s ribs with his thumbs.

Sidney puts his hands over Geordie’s, interlacing their fingers, and shakes his head. ‘No.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my dedicated and forgiving betas, [elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane) and [Kivrin.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin)
> 
> This continues to be co-dedicated to whatever lovely soul is taking all the [behind the scenes photos of _Grantchester_ filming their Christmas special](http://www.cambridge-news.co.uk/snow-in-october-as-grantchester-christmas-special-comes-to-cambridge/story-29788069-detail/story.html) and to Kivrin who sent me the photos in the first place.
> 
> The title is from [_Two Gentlemen of Verona_](http://www.bartleby.com/70/1227.html); if I've ever seen it, I've forgotten it but this line seemed too perfect: "Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow / As seek to quench the fire of love with words."


End file.
